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Wednesday, November 16, 2016

The constant lure of adventure: Kayaking a surprisingly wild urban river

I expected adventure, but no new surprises. For several
perfectly rational and utterly absurd reasons I thought I knew the Menomonee
River—my river—too well for that. How very wrong I was!

Little Menomonee River

One of our small company gets a dunking right off the bat.
Even before we’ve launched our kayaks, the slippery bank where we put in exacts
a toll. “Well, at least that’s out of the way!” is the cheerful response to the
undignified baptism. We settle into our low-slung fiberglass hulls and push
off, immediately sliding beneath the Highway 100 overpass.

We’d parked our cars in the vacant lot of an abandoned Beauty
School. Little did we know then that, except for a couple bridges, that unfortunate
structure was the last of civilization we would see for several hours. We had
embarked on our journey for the very purpose—to escape civilization and our
quotidian lives for a little while. The first surprise was how quickly and
thoroughly the river obliged.

After paddling no more than a hundred yards the first of
many logjams blocks our passage. Staying dry was never an option. I do try to
avoid the suction of fetid muck as I clamber over and around logs, dragging my
kayak behind.

The confluence of the Little Menomonee with the
Menomonee

We’d put in on the Little Menomonee River, a narrow
tributary of the Menomonee proper. At the confluence with the wider river clear
water rushes over gravelly shallows. I am reminded that several miles of the
Little Menomonee once had been biologically dead, its reconstruction the
subject of a federal Superfund clean up project over a decade ago. For much of
the Twentieth Century a wood preservative factory had dumped toxic waste into
the water. I wonder how much of that chemical stew lingers in the stream banks
and sediments of the revived river?

“Restoration is about accepting the brokenness of things,”
wrote author and bioregionalist Stephanie Mills, and “reinhabiting exploited
and abandoned places.”1 When is restoration complete, I wonder? And
yet here we are, kayaking a once abandoned stream.

Drifting peacefully

Passing the concrete pillars of the Hampton Avenue Bridge we
drift peacefully into an intensely green world that suddenly seems remarkably
remote. The very air has a richer sensation, redolent of freshly unfurled
foliage and ancient forests. I feel transported to a simpler, more native time
and place. Trees toppled with the unmistakable marks of beaver prove that more
than adventurous humans have reinhabited this river. Enchanted, I float with
the current in quiet contemplation.

The Menomonee threads its way through the most densely
populated region of Wisconsin. Like so many urban rivers, historically it has
been intensively used, sorely abused and thoroughly altered. Why have we chosen
this river for our little adventure? Our motivations reflect varied backgrounds.

Kurt Chandler

Kurt Chandler, former editor of Milwaukee Magazine and
instigator of our outing, told me “I’ve lived
within 200 yards of the Menomonee for nearly 16 years. I’ve hiked its
banks, crossed its bridges, and seen it flood and freeze over. But I’d never
been on its waters until now. I don’t know why it took so long.”

Cheryl Nenn, Milwaukee Riverkeeper

As Milwaukee’s
official Riverkeeper,* Cheryl Nenn has the most pragmatic reasons for joining
the team. Caring for the condition of the rivers is literally part of her job
description and “there is no better way to assess threats to water quality and
wildlife than to get in the water and paddle downstream.” She also tells us
that “the Menomonee is undergoing a renaissance of sorts” and to keep an eye
out for recent restoration projects.

Denny Caneff, Executive Director, River Alliance
of Wisconsin

Another seasoned professional; Denny Caneff is Executive
Director of the River Alliance of Wisconsin.** Denny is “always interested in good paddling trips”
and is particularly fond of urban streams, which, he says, “are almost always
better than people expect.” But Denny also came with a specific and admittedly
quirky agenda. “I'm keeping track of the rivers I've paddled in Wisconsin,” he
says, “and this year my goal is to hit rivers with the same name. For example,
there are three White Rivers, two Blacks, two Reds, three Yellows and four
Pines as well as the Menomonee, the Menominee, and the Menomonie.”

And me? This is a journey delayed far too long. Nearly 20
years ago I began a six-year process of exploring the Menomonee watershed, a
project that culminated with the publication in 2008 of my book, Urban Wilderness: Exploring a Metropolitan
Watershed. Like Kurt, I live near the river and have spent countless hours communing
with it without ever getting in a boat and running it. To paraphrase Thoreau,
the river is a constant lure, as it flows by my door, to enterprise and
adventure.2 Finally in a kayak, I am ecstatic, floating in more ways
than one.

Flotsam backed up behind a logjam

A mountainous logjam brings me back to earth. Or rather to
the water’s surface, which is filthy with backed up scum and flotsam. The
others are already pulling kayaks up a nearby bank. We drag them along a
riverside trail and slide them back in the water.

Hours pass in this fashion: periods of calm, drifting
beneath a high, arching canopy, scanning for wildlife, alternate with brief
struggles to get over, under or around logjams of various proportions. In that
time we see exactly two other people: the mountain biker who is merely a flash
of colorful spandex in the foliage and a man on the grassy bank watching his
dog frolic in the stream. We don’t catch a glimpse of the elusive beaver, nor
of mink or otter, which Cheryl assures us also have reinhabited the watershed.
But there are birds aplenty, plying the riverside as well as enlivening the nearly
unbroken canopy overhead.

Great blue heron

“You could fool people into thinking we’re in a wilderness,”
says Denny. Indeed. That’s been a major part of my mission as a photographer.
But it’s not a deception to identify and celebrate the wildness in our midst.

Thoreau’s famous dictum, “In wildness is the preservation of
the world,” was parsed by author David Gessner in a book about his own urban
river voyage. “While wilderness might
be untrammeled land along the Alaskan coast,” Gessner wrote, “wildness can happen anywhere…. It can
happen…on a city river.” His conclusion resonates as I duck my head and guide
my kayak under a particularly hoary tangle of brush: “It is of vital importance
that we not define this wildness as wilderness, that we not construct intellectual
walls between the natural and the human.”3

That the natural coexists with the human and we can enjoy it
in a city represents a fairly recent, but essential shift in ecological consciousness.
In a dramatic and welcome break with conventional civic promotion—traditionally
the province of Chambers of Commerce—cities now vie for the title of “greenest”
and tout sustainability, parks and bike lanes. Long-established natural areas
like the Menomonee River Parkway, irreplaceable assets that they are, now compete
with exciting, new and reimagined urban spaces like New York’s High Line and
Milwaukee’s Menomonee Valley.

Currie Park Golf Course

We emerge from the Capitol Drive overpass, abruptly confronted
with open, sun-drenched sky and the highly civilized landscape of Currie Park
Golf Course. Two golfers in spotless whites waiting to tee off wave as we
paddle by. We drift past gently rolling fairways carpeted with closely cropped
lawns running down to the river’s edge. The next obstacle to our progress isn’t
another logjam but the concrete slab of a golf cart crossing.

We stop there for water and granola bars. Cheryl explains
that Milwaukee Riverkeeper had lobbied to have the dam-like structure replaced
with a more fish-friendly one. But some higher-up determined that it didn’t
impede fish migration enough to warrant the cost. The recommendation was
ignored.

From previous experience I had been certain that Currie Park
would be a pivotal point beyond which our reverie would become increasingly
marred by intrusive signs of our urban circumstances. The moment we disembark
from the concrete slab, however, I am dealt another pleasant surprise. Like
Alice falling down a rabbit-hole in a suburban hedge, we plunge again into unanticipated
wilds. The golf course surrounding us vanishes completely, marvelously. The wild
river carries us on.

Currie Park

And so it goes for the rest of the day. After all the
exploring I have done before and all my research about the Menomonee River,
nothing has prepared me for being on the river like this. An hour or more goes
by between bridges. We catch occasional glimpses of people walking or cycling
beside the river. The gothic tower of Mount Mary University looms briefly in
the distance. Mostly we drift in peaceful solitude. The gurgling on a rocky
decline and cheerful birdsong grow louder than the sound of traffic.

While there are far fewer obstructions and no more logjams
on this middle leg of the route, we now contend with low water and a rocky bottom.
I get out and walk several times to avoid scraping the kayak. Denny says that
after a rainfall, with sufficient water in the river, some of these riffles
could be considered Class II rapids (which means gentle rapids with smaller waves, clear
channels that are obvious without scouting, possibly requiring some maneuvering.4)
Not bad for a modest urban waterway.

On the final leg of the journey I begin to feel like we are
returning to civilization. Through the trees on a steep bluff we can easily see
the picture windows of houses situated to exploit the view. After passing
through the tunnel-like North Avenue Bridge, I feel something whizz by just
over my head and duck instinctively. Thwaackk! A golf ball smacks the shallow
water and ricochets off a rock inches from the end of my paddle. A dangerously
eroded bank hides the golfer from view. As I speed down the rapids another ball
bounces silently on the green across the river.

Bank erosion at Hanson Golf Course

More erosion reveals a bank failure caused by the recent
addition of a multi-use path alongside the newly redesigned and rebuilt
Menomonee River Parkway road. Being a cyclist myself, I am among multitudes
grateful for the new off-road path on this busy stretch of roadway. However,
this represents an unusual dispute that erupted among normally allied
environmental groups about how to improve the parkway. Safety and cycling,
rather than riverbank stability won the day. None of the improvements are
visible from the river, however, and Cheryl makes note of the problem still to
be addressed.

The Parkway becomes Hoyt Park and after that Hart Park in
the Village of Wauwatosa, the most intensively used segments of the Menomonee
River. More houses, bridges and people come into view. We endure the roar and
screech of a freight train where tracks run next to the river. Despite it all,
however, once again I am surprised to find the experience at water level hardly
less wild and invigorating than it was upstream.

Hoyt Park suspension bridge

It is in Hoyt Park where we see the most obvious evidence of
restoration efforts. Looking decidedly unnatural, gleaming white limestone
riprap adorned the banks at several places. We notice also wide breaks in the riparian
woodland that were cut to allow heavy equipment access to the water. In 2015
four long-abandoned sewer crossings that had acted like dams were
removed to improve fish passage.

I run the newly freed rapids with satisfaction. Here, where
the damaged condition of the river is most visible, we also find the most
hopeful signs. We have become a society that cares enough to repair the
ecological damage done by previous generations. Healing the river is a
necessary prerequisite to healing our relationship to nature and natural
processes. Our future and our children’s future depend on this.

Bullfrog

Kurt and I both live next to Hoyt Park. It is as familiar as
a backyard and yet, even here, the kayak affords an experience both
unprecedented and unforeseen. Denny’s prediction proved true: it was better
than expected. Summing up the expedition, he says, “For an urban amenity I found it surprisingly appealing—a blue and
green ribbon winding through a densely settled urban area, a place that feels
remote and removed even though the city thrums nearby.” After a somewhat arduous six hours on the river, when we finally pull
the kayaks out at Jacobus Park, everyone agrees they’re ready to repeat
the adventure—the river already is luring us back.

Go to my Flickr album to see additional photos relating to this story.

Notes:

*Milwaukee Riverkeeper is a non-profit organization,
associated with the international Waterkeeper Alliance, whose mission is to protect,
improve and advocate for water quality, riparian wildlife habitat, and sound
land management in the Milwaukee area watersheds.

**The River Alliance of Wisconsin is a non-profit
organization whose mission is to advocate for the protection,
enhancement and restoration of Wisconsin's rivers and watersheds.